Snatched
by show-addicted
Summary: Tezuka Kunimitsu winds up in a highly unlikely situation. Nothing makes sense, but somehow, it's all linked to one Atobe Keigo.  AtoZuka, future AU, Germany


Title:

Fandom: Prince of Tennis

Pairing: Atobe Keigo/Tezuka Kunimitsu

Genre: humour

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis in any shape or form. I do not make profits from writing fanfiction.

Summary: Tezuka Kunimitsu winds up in a highly unlikely situation. Nothing makes sense, but somehow, it's all linked to one Atobe Keigo. (AtoZuka, future AU, Germany)

A/N: Randomly random. I just felt like writing a one-shot whole taking a break from my many multi-chapters!

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><p>Tezuka Kunimitsu wondered how he'd managed to wind up in this situation: with his arms tied behind his back, fastened to the chair he was sitting on, blindfolded. His elbow hurt a little because it was twisted at a somewhat weird angle, but it was nothing in comparison to the dull pain emanating from the back of his head, pulsating to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He couldn't remember anything that could point him to the cause of his current predicament. The last thing he could recall before everything went dark was what he'd been doing: searching for a book he really wanted to read in his local library. Hardly an activity that involved any possible risks, and yet here he was, an unwilling participant in some bizarre albeit random kidnapping scenario.<p>

He couldn't think of even one person that would go as far as to kidnap him. It made no sense, in his mind; he was not a child of a particularly wealthy family, moreover, he was hardly a child at all at the age of seventeen. He was just one of the many students on a special sports scholarship training programme here in Munich, and while he was the only Japanese person on the programme, he didn't suppose he stood out enough for anyone to want to resort to kidnapping.

He had heard rumours about foreigners being kidnapped for prostitution, but those stories usually involved pretty girls, rather than unremarkable, plain-looking boys such as himself, so he disregarded that possibility whatsoever. He also didn't think there were any people here in Germany with enough of a grudge against him to do something non-sense like this. The pain he was feeling also pointed to the undeniable fact that it was not a dream nor a nightmare.

No matter how long he thought about it, he just couldn't make heads nor tails of the entire situation, which left him at a dead end. He was aware, however, that even if he could work out what had caused this mess, it would mean nothing – it would change nothing. Guessing the identity of his kidnapper wouldn't magically free him of the bonds nor would it remove the blindfold. To be honest with himself, Tezuka had to admit that all this thinking he was indulging in was only a way of passing some time until the situation progressed in any way. Otherwise, he would have to get worried or, eventually, fearful, since being kidnapped didn't rank too high on the list of safe ways to pass time.

Also, it helped keep his mind off the training schedule he was effectively missing. After all his hard work at the courts, during which he had managed to overcome his biggest weakness – his fear of hurting his elbow beyond repair – it seemed like such a waste to take a break now, whatever the reason. Obviously, though, it was way beyond his control. This helplessness, along with the awareness of lot hours he could have spent improving his skills under the watch of professional couches, was possibly the worst thing about this whole kidnapping business.

'Are you awake?' Somebody asked him all of a sudden in Japanese, albeit with a heavy accent, but the fact remained; Tezuka, startled at both the sound and the language, tried to look around in order to see the speaker, but alas, it was impossible due to the blindfold.

He hadn't heard any movement, nor any other sounds before this person spoke up. That meant this stranger – possibly his kidnapper – had been in the same room with him all along. For some reason, this new realization seemed somewhat disturbing.

'I was worried you died or something,' the disembodied voice continued, and it sounded as if the speaker was amused. 'Can't demand a ransom for a dead body, now can I?'

'There is nobody in this country that would pay any ransoms for me,' replied Tezuka, calm despite the circumstances. 'You must have mistaken me for somebody else.'

'Yeah, right. I got the description right, okay? Japanese kid, one hundred eighty something centimetres tall, light brown hair, plays tennis. Fits you to a T, doesn't it? Keigo Atobe,' said the stranger, using the European order of names, despite speaking Japanese.

Tezuka would have blinked, were it possible with the cloth covering his eyes. He had just been mistaken for a person who looked nothing like him, a person who couldn't be any different from him in terms of personality if he tried. Not only that: he had been mistaken for his rival from junior high school, who, as far as he knew (and he was pretty sure he, of all people, _would _know), was still back in Japan.

'I'm sorry, but I am not Atobe,' he explained, aware that it might prove to be a fruitless effort. 'My name is Tezuka, Tezuka Kunimitsu. If you have my bag somewhere, there should be my ID in an inner pocket.'

'Yeah, right. Of course you would lie to me so that I'd let you go,' the stranger said, doubtfully, but Tezuka could hear some footsteps, and then the tell-tale sound of rummaging through his tennis bag's contents. After a while, the sounds subsided.

'... No fucking way,' was the next thing Tezuka heard. 'You're not lying? Aww, shit. This is bad. And I already sent a demand,' the unfortunate kidnapper whined. 'You Asians all look the same!' He complained unreasonably. 'What do I do now?...'

Tezuka had no word of advice for the man who had gone as far as to injure and abduct somebody without making sure that person was really the one he'd wanted to take. He found it astounding that somebody could get so careless when doing something this risky.

It was not his problem, though. His problem was getting out of here, possibly alive and unharmed beyond what had already happened to him. His elbow was really starting to feel uncomfortable, and the pain at the back of his head had transformed into a full-fledged, migraine-like headache. What had he done to get himself involved in such a messy situation? Certainly, this was a nightmare: in no other case could he imagine himself being kidnapped instead of the narcissistic captain of the Hyoutei tennis team. Only, he was sure he wasn't dreaming.

'The reasonable choice would be to let me go home,' he said, in the vain hope that his captor could see the logic behind the suggestion. 'I didn't see your face, nor do I know your voice, so I can't reveal your identity to anybody. However, if I'm not back at the training facility before my curfew, they are going to start searching for me.'

'They won't find you here,' replied the stranger, confidence clear in his voice. It was worrisome. 'I could kill you and leave you to rot here, and maybe in twenty years, someone would find your corpse. If you're lucky,' he actually _cackled _after that, like some sort of a bad film villain.

'That's not a good idea,' said Tezuka before he could force himself to stay silent. Wondering what brought about this new-found willingness to talk to scatterbrained kidnappers, he continued: 'I'm pretty sure there must be a way out of this unfortunate situation that doesn't involve you harming me. I mean you no offence, but I'd prefer not to get hurt because you blundered and kidnapped an innocent bystander.'

'Hey, that's harsh,' protested the kidnapper, sounding offended. 'It's not my fault I have no idea what that Atobe kid looks like! The news said he was going to come to Munich to open a new tennis facility for his father's company, but there weren't any photos, just a description. You fit it, so I grabbed you, okay?'

'... it's next month,' Tezuka said softly.

'What?' Asked the kidnapper.

'He's not coming until next month. In May. Didn't they say so in the news?' Answered Tezuka, mentally assigning the man a thousand laps for his epic carelessness.

'You're lying,' the kidnapper accused him, but there was a hint of desperation in his voice, along with an undertone of anxiety.

'No, I am not. The tennis facility isn't opening until the beginning of May, and that's when Atobe comes to conduct the opening ceremony,' Tezuka explained patiently. 'Listen, this is pointless. If you don't want to let me go, would you mind tying my hands at the front instead of the back? My elbow hurts, and if too much strain is put on it, it might ruin my entire tennis career.'

It was official: Tezuka had lost his mind. He couldn't believe that he was sitting there, conversing casually with a stranger who had abducted him from the library. He had trouble picturing himself talking like that to anyone most of the time, let alone to a criminal that threatened to hurt him. After all, he was a quiet person who kept mostly to himself.

He eventually came to the conclusion that the unusual situation was the cause of an unusual reaction, and he let the matter rest. Questioning himself in addition to questioning the presence of a brain in his captor's skull wasn't that great of an idea.

After a long pause, he heard the stranger clear his throat.

'So... you're sure you're not Keigo Atobe?' He asked, almost pleadingly, as if he expected Tezuka to say that he had been kidding all this time and that he really was the heir to the world-renowned corporation.

'I'm sure,' Tezuka confirmed, almost a little sorry for the man.

'That's so unfair!' Complained the kidnapper. 'Life sucks! Why can't I get lucky at least once? You know how much luck matters in my job?'

Tezuka didn't know. He also didn't know what job the man was referring to. He didn't feel like pointing it out, though; fuelling the rant of somebody like that was not a top priority of his. His head was giving him real hell. He wished he could lie down and sleep.

'I'll tell you! It's all about luck. I've got this friend, he's really famous, he's made a fortune of kidnapping wealthy kids for ransoms. And you know what? He's all about luck. He just wakes up, takes a walk, grabs a kid and demands ransom – and he gets it like that, like it's that easy! I don't get it! Why is he so lucky and I'm not? I do my research, I stalk, and yet I always fail! I don't know what to do anymore,' whined the kidnapper.

'You should find another job,' Tezuka advised him calmly, despite being on the verge of exploding.

'But I suck at everything else!' The kidnapper complained pitifully.

'Well to be honest, you suck at kidnapping, too, so why don't you, I don't know, take a styling course? I hear stylists are always needed,' Tezuka snapped. This was pointless. This was more pointless than assigning Fuji punishment laps had been back in junior high. This whole situation was ridiculous and he had no more patience to listen to a criminal grumbling about his pitiful life!

The kidnapper snorted, seemingly offended at his words. 'Very funny! You must be one of those lucky ones yourself, aren't you? With that pretty face and tennis scholarship! You know what? You're of no use to me! Ha! How do you like that?'

Tezuka was never one for sarcastic remarks, so he refrained from speaking his mind. Instead, he waited on the outcome of the man's little outburst.

'I'll jut put you back where I found you! I don't need such goody-goodies like you!' The kidnapper concluded, much to Tezuka's relief... which only lasted until the man hit the back of his head with something blunt.

Before losing consciousness, Tezuka's last thought was very out of character for him.

_Fuuuuck, it hurts!... _

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><p>Atobe Keigo was, as always, magnificent. The grand celebration of the opening of Atobe Corp.'s Tennis Centre was made even grander by his precious persona, and crowds gathered there to be able to bear witness to the truly marvellous speech that Atobe delivered with pleasure. There were, after all, only three things he loved as much as he loved himself: the admiration of masses, tennis and Tezuka Kunimitsu.<p>

Who, by the way, wasn't very pleased with life in general lately. He'd earned himself a ban from his local library for _disrupting peace_ (which amassed to lying passed out on the floor in one of the lanes; but the librarian was unforgiving and wouldn't listen to his explanations). For weeks after the kidnapping incident, he had had two painful bumps on the back of his head. Fortunately, the doctor he'd consulted said there were no signs of concussion, so Tezuka went back to training almost immediately, which resulted in frequent migraines.

He was better now, a month later, but just thinking about the experience made him want to assign people laps. Looking at the crowds surrounding the makeshift stage, erected solely for the purpose of Atobe's welcome speech, he scowled. For all he knew, that imbecile of a kidnapper could be one of these people, waiting for an opportunity to grab the real Atobe this time.

Well, knowing that man's lack of brains from experience, he wasn't too worried.

Finally, the celebration was over and Tezuka could talk face to face, in private, with the person he had been foolishly mistaken for. Of course, talking to Atobe wasn't easy; it never had been, especially after long periods of not having seen each other, because that was when Atobe had other things in mind instead of talking.

So only after having been kissed silly and almost ravished on the spot was Tezuka able to recount to Atobe the story of his kidnapping, and even then he was interrupted from time to time by kisses to various parts of his body, which made it pretty hard to concentrate on the order of events, especially when the kisses were joined by soft caresses here and there...

In the end, he didn't have a chance to finish. He didn't regret it. He rarely had time to spend with his boyfriend, so now that Atobe was here, they could do more pleasurable things than talking about weird, careless kidnappers complaining about luck.

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><p>'My stylist stood me up today,' Atobe said after they were temporarily sated with each other. 'I was in luck, I found a great stylist at the last minute. He's even better than that last one was, it's a wonder I haven't heard of him before. The guy's pretty new, but he's a genius!' He exclaimed.<p>

'Good for you,' Tezuka replied, because it was the right thing to say. Really, though, he didn't have to say anything. Atobe was blabbering just because he felt like informing Tezuka of everything that went on in his life; even though it was redundant, Tezuka actually found pleasure in knowing it all. It was almost as if they weren't always so far away from each other, as if they were really a part of each other's life.

'By the way... I mentioned you to him, you know, once or twice, when he was doing my hair,' Atobe said, seemingly deep in thought. 'And he said he knows you. He asked me to thank you for the advice, but about what, he didn't say. Any idea what he could have meant?'

_No. No, no. That's impossible, _thought Tezuka, wide-eyed in disbelief. Such things didn't happen in real life, did they?

He felt a headache already coming.


End file.
